If a Snape sees his shadow... Feb. 2nd

What they used to call Imbolc (those of us who know the Old Ways still do), people now call Groundhog Day. Ridiculous. So if I, Severus, rather than a groundhog, see my shadow on Feb. 2nd, will there be six more weeks of winter? In the world of Snape, it is always winter. And I... I am the shadow.

Salazar Slytherin walked here.

Upward of a thousand years ago, the home of one of Hogwarts' founders stood here, in the middle of this quiet fen – an idyllic location for a wizard who enjoyed his solitude and the company of Nature's secrets. I stand amidst this peaceful, stark landscape, and there is the perfect balance of sound: enough silence to hear the serpents that once spoke to their Master (though not to hear their language), mixed with occasional birdsong.



Artists would describe it as having "a limited palette". Others would find it outright bleak, even creepy. Plenty of today's dunder-headed youth would call it "dull as sh*t", mainly if they had no cannabis or Firewhisky to share away from adult eyes.

Slytherin Fen is not everyone's idea of a nice place. In winter, especially, the land is asleep, and the colors of the landscape are subdued. Along the banks, suckholes and grass-covered wash-tunnels wait to trap the unwary legs of folks less observant than a keen-eyed Potions Master. But I find it a place of deep serenity, of most precious, welcome peace.

I blend in with the scenery, like merely another broken snag, a black stump, a shadow amid the many shadows of this place, laden as it is already with tree trunks and logs. And when I stand still, not only my body but my spirit merges with the stoic, quiet spirit of the Fen.



Here I can stretch myself upon the bank in the sun, with no students to bother me, no Albus to Floo me with the overly friendly news of a staff meeting, and most of all, no Boy-Who-Lived to vex me. In that rare window of blessed isolation, only the Dark Mark remains as that which can yank me ruthlessly back to my caged life, and it is tied to that part of my brain that is ever, without fail, on alert and dreads the need to take action. But the rest of me, for the most part, is at last able to take its ease.


Even in winter, the Fen yields its secrets to those who seek. Rare potions ingredients lurk beneath the bowing grass, cling to logs, hang on trees, and are usually within reach of a Summoning spell or long fingers: lichens, feathers, wild herbs, frogs, toads, snakes, swamp leeches, mud nippers... The sundry bits find a place in any of several hidden pockets within the folds of black.

This place may appear dead to some, but it is pulsing with life. Even in a moment of silence, the air hums with its presence. At other times, tiny creatures flit past me on their various missions, and the grass rustles briefly. Across a broad waterway, a committee of Red Wing Blackbirds converse brightly – almost too brightly for my tastes – and announce their insistent, metric measurements:

"One-millili-i-i-i-iter!"
"Thirty-one-li-i-i-i-iters!!"

At last, the sun begins to set over Slytherin Fen, tinting the sky with a delicious brew of lemon and peach and melon and cream, soft blue and grey, and finally a rich range of pinks. I take my leave, refreshed – if only somewhat – in body and soul, content... and glad, once again, that I have come.

If today there shall be six more weeks of winter because a Snape saw his shadow in the Fen, then so be it. This day has been worth it.


Happy Imbolc!
Imbolc (or Oimelc, later Candlemas) is one of the original Witches' sabbats in Europe and, especially, the Celtic lands. Its patron Goddess is Brighid, or Bride, later called St. Brigid by some. It is a holiday for celebrating the first returning of the Sun, the new life of spring, as embodied by the light of candles, and the symbology of Brigid as the bringer of flame. At this time of year, the land in the British Isles, especially farther north, is still pretty dead. In ancient times, stored food was running real low by now, and your family would be feeling the strain. Spring was greatly welcomed and anticipated. In the Pacific Northwest, the first, merest stirrings of life can be seen right now – trees with sticky, resinous buds, early blades of grass, velvety pussy willows, and those sweet cherry blossoms.

So what is a "fen"?!?! It's a wetland, a swamp, fed by running streams more than rain (a bog is fed mainly by rain). In the Harry Potter series, sneaky, snake-loving Salazar Slytherin is stated (via the Hat!) as having lived in a fen. In these pictures, "Slytherin Fen" is actually Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, which does rise and fall a bit with the rain, but also has live, slow streams running through it. This summer I had a truly magical experience there, in which a small snake came up to my feet and curled about them briefly before making her way off into the grasses again. And aside from the well-used jogging trail populated by cell-phone wielding dunderheads, yes, it is a place of serenity (all the more reason to nip off to one side, out of sight, and poke around for potions ingredients). Hundreds of birds, muskrats, and plenty of other critters call this home. I try to venture out to this spot on a regular basis... however, I respect its status as a refuge and, in fact, do not kill or take away any critters for potions. I get 'em elsewhere instead.

Knowledge Exquisite

Tonight was miraculously, mercifully free of staff meetings, exam and assignment grading, detentions, or other equally irksome necessities of a Professor's life. I indulged myself at last, perusing a few old tomes off the top shelf and testing a couple of the formulas, noting some possible improvements. Alas – when will I next have such a pleasure? I know not.

Above: photo of my formula log. All potion notes and recipes typically wind up in here.

I've recently finished my first main module of study for my medicinal herbal apprenticeship! Very proud. I don't have nearly as strict a taskmaster as Snape, of course – in fact, we are to complete projects on our own time. However, I love the subject so much that I put a great deal of effort into the work, without being urged by another. And the references! The source books I find, from which to include juicy extra tidbits... the dear herbals, from Matteson (1847), to Green (2004)... The Master herbalist told me she couldn't wait to read it. I hope I've done well by her. "Let me know what I can do better," I pointed out, "since this is my first one!"























One of the things I absolutely, bar none, hated about Book 7 was the burning of the Room of Requirement. All those books! All that knowledge, lost! The findings of centuries, up in smoke! Including, we must presume, the experimental discoveries of the Half-Blood Prince. I am reminded far too much of the burning of the library of Alexandria, a travesty in an age when all manuscripts had to be copied by hand. Ack!!! How I cringe to think of it. That sentiment alone, for the sacredness of knowledge, especially esoteric, must surely slap me as either a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin. Due to my fondness for Snape and tendency to consider the "Gray" possibilities (I avoid outright Black if possible), I tend to angle toward Slytherin.

The Night that went Perfectly

WE DON'T GET HUNG UP ON MORALS – WE DON'T WORRY 'BOUT BREAKIN' HEARTS – WE DON'T CARE, NOT AT ALL – SLYTHERINS JUST WANNA PAAARTY

Potions Master is one thing. But party master? Rarely do I get a good chance to arrange a group of friends for serious fun. But for Deathly Hallows #1, Portland Midnight premier, that's just what I did – from the calls, emails, texts, invites and reservations, to gathering the necessary... um... ingredients.

Lesson learned from last year: Get there at least one-and-a-half hours early. After meeting up for a bite of mac-n'-cheese and some beer at Rock Bottom Brewery, we got in the long, winding line to wait. I was prepped – my Slytherin student bag was bloated, like a snake that had swallowed something three times its girth (broke my zipper, but I fixed it!), with the makings of a full party: snack mixes, organic M&Ms, Bertie Botts' Beans, several home-bottled potions of soft-drink consistency. My hair was freshly greased, my cloak newly embroidered (by my own hands) with my latest promotional insignia, and we were all ready to rumble.

The announcer stood up, bellowing over the heads of the young crowd. They were going to search us! Oh, no!!! No outside food!!!! My bag still hung over my shoulder, bulging under my cape like a Victorian bustle, and I seriously considered just slyin' my way in. What would they do, frisk us? But while Snape-wear is ideal for a cold, blustery Portland evening, it was horrid in that well-heated cinema. If they were gonna search our bags anyway... to heck with it! I whipped off my cloak. We plopped right down on the floor, still in line, and busted out the grub, laughing fit to bust at all the crap stowed in my bag.

Sometimes, the most Slytherin thing to do is ask, albeit in a silky, openly innocent way. No way were they confiscating my stash. Not wanting to be searched and hold up the line, this I did, displaying the bag's contents, whereupon the ticket girl said my "Harry Potter party props" were fine – it was just big fast-food bags and other blatant stuff they had issues with. Yesss!!! However, just in case of a search, I slithered into the bathroom – and stuffed a pocketknife and some fireworks (in case my friends were up for a spark-filled, Potter-esque duel) into my sock. Oops. It's always fun swaggering into Ladies with fake frown lines and a five-o'-clock shadow, or better, a beard. I'm the only woman I know who regularly dons makeup to cause herself to look older.

Bring it on!!!! We scored prime seats toward the back and nestled in. There came the usual parade of silly, cheesy previews, and while I was only "channeling" Sev at one-quarter throttle, I still delivered for each several scathing, flesh cutting comments, letting everyone in hearing range know I was one of those seasoned folks who see through Hollywood's hormone driven appeal to our common animal denominators of sex and survival lust, and was here only to indulge in something I liked before the screen interpreted it...

A quick, slick potions trick came next – I'd had the presence of mind to pack a two-part affair that lights up in a couple of tiny bottles ("Rapidalumos", or "Insta-Lite"?!). I have a "bling-chain" with another tiny bottle on it – a personal status symbol of a pimpin' Dr. Severus Snape. I mixed the potions in the pendant bottle for my friends' benefit, but it actually turned out very useful: my friend lost her cell phone under the seats! As Harry, Ron and Hermione passed the cursed Horcrux locket of Slytherin amongst them, I appropriately, and repeatedly passed my friend my own "magic chain", and she eventually found her Muggle device.

As the movie commenced to cheers, we once again got out the party fixings and tucked in with relish, probably to the chagrin of those next to us. Never let it be said that Party Master Snape is not good to his loyal subjects!

We were rather satisfied with the movie, which is saying something from the point of view of a die-hard book adherent like me who's frequently at odds with film interpretations. I won't give too much away, but... snippets: – The few scenes Jason Isaacs is in, he's damned fine! Bellatrix is more like I imagined her from the book in this movie, thank badness. There are many quiet spaces, with nothing said, equaling whole volumes of description. Quite a good deal of creepiness. And... I still like my wand, Nemesis, better. (Another item I hoped they wouldn't take issue with at the ticket stand...)

We hung out some more, and I finally got home, went to bed at 5:00am, one very fagged-out party animal of a Snape. Thank Merlin it's just a theory exam tomorrow...